Last night we finally had our first snowfall that stuck around past morning. For those keeping track that's our first snowfall with just over four weeks to go until the first day of Spring. And since it's currently raining and in the mid-40's, I suspect that by the time I pick my son up from the babysitter this evening even that small amount will have turned to brownish slush.
The past two weeks have been a combination of bizarre baby circumstances and tedious work related adventures that would have had accompanying pictures except for the fact that
- My mother mistakenly grabbed my camera during her last visit to the house after asking me to make sure I packed all her stuff for her (including her own camera) so she wouldn't forget anything. Not only did she take my camera, but she also forgot her Tupperware (the constant leaving and picking up Tupperware is a staple to mothers everywhere, methinks).
- Monday night I dropped my cell phone in an airport in Houston, TX and didn't realize it until I was already on my way back to New York.
So was my mother.
In the end, however, instead of the glee of picking out a new cool phone, the airport is shipping my phone back to me. Nice people, those Texans. If you have a chance to fly in to Houston, say hi from me. And as soon as my phone comes back I can post the weird statue of George H. Bush that I passed on the way to my gate.
My son is now ferociously crawling around the house, has taken a sudden and very intense interest in wall sockets, and has also discovered his massive upper body strength, which allows him to pull himself up to a standing position utilizing anything within reach. The kid just started to crawl, and already he's looking to cruise.
This new-found freedom of movement prompted our first Baby Accident, which I am told is a similar experience for all parents. Jack found his way over to our glass coffee table and managed to get himself into standing position right next to one of the glass corners. I immediately pulled him away, saying, "Hey! You're not supposed to be there. If you want to stand, you can stand over here." Here being his wacky mobile foam tube thing that sits in the middle of the den. I stuck him over there and proceeded to cover the glass table with pillows in case he meandered over there again, not watching as Jack proceeded to climb and then fall down, whacking the side of his head against a wooden chair.
The slowness with which I watched him bang his head can't be adequately described. It can only be contrasted against the incredible speed with which I picked him and ran around the house shouting "Holy Shit Holy Shit Holy Shit Holy Shit Holy Shit." There was a knot about the size of a golf ball on the side of his head, he was screaming like the Rapture was upon us, and I felt like I had just killed my son or worse, gave him brain damage.
Five minutes later after putting a cold compress to his head, he was eating lunch and playing with his plastic horse. I had vomited in the toilet and offered God anything he wanted as long as Jack would be okay. The next morning the swelling was completely gone and all that remains now is a small brown stripe of a bruise.
Kids. Resilient little monsters.